


Competence is a First Skin

by ilokheimsins



Series: Inceptiversary 2017 Bingo [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur is not amused, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreamhusbands, Eames fucks up just a lil, Eames just wanted to crack a cold one with the boys, M/M, brief use of a gun as a bludgeon, but it was for The Boys, butter knives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 12:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilokheimsins/pseuds/ilokheimsins
Summary: It starts with Eames forgetting his keys at home.  It ends with Eames and the boys having to get their arses saved by Arthur, who's the most murderous rescuer ever.





	Competence is a First Skin

**Author's Note:**

> 2/25 of Inceptiversary 2017 Bingo

“Eames.”

“Mm, yes, pet?”

“This is entirely your fault.”

“Normally I would refute that.  But in this case, yes.  It is entirely my fault.”

“I’m glad we agree on something,” Arthur says as he bends down to cut the rope off of Eames’ wrists.

“Your friends?” He nods slightly at the men tied up next to Eames.

“Ah!  How terribly forgetful of me.  This is Jimmy, John, and James,” Eames says brightly.  Arthur just goggles at him.

“You cannot be fucking serious.  Those can’t be their names.”

“Serious as a heart attack.”

Arthur sighs and tosses Eames a knife.

“Set your own feet free.”

Arthur gets to work on one of the others as Eames leans down to saw at the binds around his feet.

“Eames, who the fuck is this?”

“Well, Jimmy old boy.  This is Arthur.  He’s delightful, isn’t he?” Eames replies jovially without even the slightest hint of sarcasm.  “Absolute angel, he is.”

Jimmy stares at Eames like he’s grown three more heads.  He looks back at Arthur just to make sure that, yes, Arthur does look like he’s about to murder them all in their sleep and then resurrect Eames just to make sleep outside in a literal doghouse for the night.

“Arthur, darling, if you wouldn’t mind passing me a gun?”

“No guns for you.  You haven’t earned gun privilege again yet.  This is incredibly stupid,” Arthur points the knife at Eames.  “How did you even get yourself into this?”

“I was just having a drink with the boys, darling.  Nothing sinister at all,” Eames blinks, eyes huge and innocent and Arthur rolls his eyes so hard that for a moment there, Jimmy thinks they might stick in his skull.

“Nothing is ever innocent with you,” the man to Jimmy’s left snorts.

“I’m offended and deeply hurt that you would think that, John.  I’m a paragon of virtue.”

John barks out a hideous cackle and obligingly holds his hands out for Arthur to get at.

“See, Eames, even your best friends think you’re lying when you say you’re virtuous,” Arthur says mildly as he releases James.

“They say this because they’re my friends, petal.  Dom says you’re murderous when you’re woken up before noon on Saturdays and he’s your friend,” Eames points out.

“Irrelevant.  You get the butter knife until you earn back gun privileges,” Arthur says, ever magnanimous, as he passes the dull piece of silverware to Eames and tucks his own much sharper blade into its holster.

He stalks to the door, gun up, and flicks his fingers at Eames and his boys.

“’m not a dog,” Jimmy grumbles as he follows the others as they creep down the hall behind Arthur.

“Shut up,” Arthur hisses.  Jimmy startles and then leans forward to whisper in Eames’ ear, “Fucking ears like a bat, innit.”

Arthur sends a poisonous glare over his shoulder and Jimmy’s hands go up in surrender on reflex.  He shifts so that he’s more hidden behind Eames just in case Arthur decides to skewer him.  It’s a huge relief when all Arthur does is kick down the door they’re all crouched by.  He goes charging in, gun first, and they all scoot forward to watch what’s going on when they hear shouting.

Arthur whirls and shoots, taking down one man, and then spins on his heel to send the back of his shoe slamming into another man’s jaw.  There’s a loud crack and he drops but Arthur’s already moved, catching the body and using it as a shield to fire at another person coming in through the far end of the room.  He lets go of the body and sprints forward, sliding underneath a desk and popping up to shoot someone through the underside of the jaw.

“Holy shit,” James breathes out in awe.

He holsters his gun and pulls the knife he took back from Eames earlier as well as a wicked looking hunting knife that shines, evidence of loving care, in the low light.  Arthur wields them efficiently, aiming for the small spaces with exposed arteries and joints when they’re suddenly revealed by movement.  He neatly dodges arterial spray and by the end of it, although the room is painted in spurts of red, the only things that are bloody about Arthur at all are his knives and shoes.

“Darling, not that this isn’t wonderfully arousing, but can I—”

“No, you get the butter knife,” Arthur says hotly and storms out a door that seems to magic out of nowhere on the opposing wall.

“Mate,” John asks as they jog gingerly through the bloody room to catch up with Arthur, “what’s up with the butter knife?”

“Ah, it’s Arthur’s delightful way of letting me know he’s glad I haven’t died but he’s very, very cross with me and how I’ve cocked up,” Eames says.

“So he just lets you try to fend for yourself with a butter knife,” John says.

“Yup, it’s how he shows he loves me,” Eames replies proudly.  “If he didn’t love me he would let me go empty handed like you lot.”

The other three exchange looks with each other that clearly say that Eames is bat shit bonkers.

“A butter knife.”

“Yes, John, do keep up.  A butter knife,” Eames waves it about to further underline his point.

Once they’re outside the compound, all bets are off it seems because Arthur starts pointing out everything Eames did wrong to get caught, beginning with the fact that he forgot his keys at home.

“Your keys,” Arthur shoves them into Eames’ chest, “how the fuck do you forget your keys?”

Eames listens patiently as Arthur continues to list the atrocities Eames has committed on this day, though he does slide his hand into Arthur’s to rub his thumb over the back of his hand.  This stops Arthur in his tirade for a single second, just long enough to raise an eyebrow at Eames, before he’s back at it.

“Because I knew you would come save me, darling,” Eames says mildly.  “You’re the most competent human being I know.”

Arthur frowns, adorably in Eames’ opinion and murderously in the other’s.

“That’s not going to get you off the hook, Mr. Eames.”

“Mmm, no, I wasn’t expecting it to.  But we should drop the boys off at home and then you can tell me some more about how I’ve clearly got no sense in my skull because I gambled away my bullets and rendered my gun useless, hm?”

He kisses a dimple that Arthur is trying to force away.

“Ugh, fine,” Arthur acquiesces and shoves Eames away.  “Get in the car.”

They all scramble into the back seat, cramming together to fit.  Eames slides into shotgun and puts the butter knife in the cup holder.  Arthur rolls his eyes again when he sees it, but it’s affectionate this time from what the boys can tell.

Arthur asks, perfunctorily, “All buckled in?”

No one has a chance to confirm before he stamps down on the accelerator and guns it, the tires screeching as the car jumps forward.  As John clutches the door and Jimmy for dear fucking life, he watches the butter knife clatter around in the cup holder and thinks, yeah, Eames has found himself someone pretty fucking competent.


End file.
